Bradbury, Ray - SSC 07 (56 page)

 
          
 
Mr. Fremley, in his room, applauding.

 
          
 
It took five seconds for Mr. Terle to figure
out what it was. Then he nudged Mr. Smith and began, himself, to beat his palms
together. The two men struck their hands in mighty explosions. The echoes
ricocheted around about in the hotel caverns above and below, striking walls,
mirrors, windows, trying to fight free of the rooms.

 
          
 
Miss Hillgood opened her eyes now, as if this
new storm had come on her in the open, unprepared.

 
          
 
The men gave their own recital. They smashed
their hands together so fervently it seemed they had fistfuls of firecrackers
to set off, one on another. Mr. Fremley shouted. Nobody heard. Hands winged
out, banged shut again and again until fingers puffed up and the old men's
breath came short and they put their hands at last on their knees, a heart
pounding inside each one.

 
          
 
Then, very slowly, Mr. Smith got up and still
looking at the harp, went outside and carried in the suitcases. He stood at the
foot of the lobby stairs looking for a long while at Miss Hillgood. He glanced
down at her single piece of luggage resting there by the first tread. He looked
from her suitcase to her and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

 
          
 
Miss Hillgood looked at her harp, at her
suitcase, at Mr. Terle, and at last back to Mr. Smith,

 
          
 
She nodded once.

 
          
 
Mr. Smith bent down and with his own luggage
under one arm and her suitcase in the other, he started the long slow climb up
the stairs in the gentle dark. As he moved, Miss Hillgood put the harp back on
her shoulder and either played in time to his moving or he moved in time to her
playing, neither of them knew which.

 
          
 
Half up the flight, Mr. Smith met Mr. Fremley
who, in a faded robe, was testing his slow way down.

 
          
 
Both stood there, looking deep into the lobby
at the one man on the far side in the shadows, and the two women further over,
no more than a motion and a gleam. Both thought the same thoughts.

 
          
 
The sound of the harp playing, the sound of
the cool water falling every night and every night of their lives, after this.
No spraying the roof with the garden hose now any more. Only sit on the porch
or lie in your night bed and hear the falling . . .the falling ... the falling
. . .

 
          
 
Mr. Smith moved on up the stair; Mr. Fremley
moved down.

 
          
 
The harp, the harp. Listen, listen!

 
          
 
The fifty years of drought were over.

 
          
 
The time of the long rains had come.